


The Valentine's Special

by orphan_account



Category: 50 States of Fright (Web Series), Saturday Night Live
Genre: M/M, the reddie adjacent of it all made me do it, unfounded allegations against old hollywood stars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:13:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24471106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: As he listened to the stage manager and crew shout obscenity-laden tirades at each other across the set, it came to Vincent in a flash of clarity that this special may very well be the one that would break him. Not the Halloween special, not the Christmas special, not even the St Patrick’s Day special. No, this, the Valentines special was going to be the final straw.
Relationships: Vincent Price/Sebastian Klepner
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	The Valentine's Special

As he listened to the stage manager and crew shout obscenity-laden tirades at each other across the set, it came to Vincent in a flash of clarity that this special may very well be the one that would break him. Not the Halloween special, not the Christmas special, not even the St Patrick’s Day special. No, this, the Valentines special was going to be the final straw.

He ducked down to avoid a pair or teamsters, who almost walked into him as they carried a pair of startled looking fibreglass cherubs connected by a length of ribbon. He plastered himself back against the wall, and lit a cigarette with lightly trembling fingers.

The hydraulics were misbehaving again - in the last run through, Vincent had ended up disappearing entirely up out of shot, before the operator had got a handle on the thing and stopped him reaching the studio ceiling - and he was certain he’d heard Liberace cracking wise to the stagehands about 'cupid's arrows'. Whatever _unspeakable_ thing that was a euphemism for.

Something to do with penetrating no doubt. 

It wasn't that Vincent didn't _sympathise_ of course. It was an open secret of the industry you understand, that so many of even the manliest of men had _other inclinations_. Vincent himself had certainly dabbled… It was simply the fact that Liberace could be so brazen about it. This was a _family_ show, and his behaviour would have been inappropriate no matter who he was aiming it at. 

The lights flickered with an unnerving buzzing sound, and Vincent stepped away from the wall, lest the wallpaper decide to catch fire and multiply his problems yet further. 

"Should anyone need me, I will be in the props room," he announced to the room at large, wincing as a lamp near his head sparked, the fake candle bulb flaring then going dim, “Gathering my thoughts…”

Gathering his thoughts and seeking out the bottle of brandy that he knew very well the stage manager kept in there.

With the crew largely occupied fixing the various effects problems, Vincent hoped he would have a few moments of peace and privacy sequestered away in the small back room. There was something oddly relaxing about the dusty, mothballs and old velvet smell of the place - it put one in mind of the theatre back before the war. He would quite often take a private moment to hunker down in there, surrounded by an eclectic collection of bits and pieces that had migrated from stage to film to television, rendered bizarre and cheap looking by the loss of their original context…

Oh dear, not a good mental pathway to wander down.

As he entered the room, weaving around a large, paper mache rendering of Abraham Lincoln, he headed for the old pirates’ chest that he knew to contain the illicit supply of liquor. Before he could open the box of treasures however, he stopped in his tracks. 

His secluded, private hideaway wasn’t so secluded after all.

A man Vincent did not recognise stood with his back towards the door, focused intently on a stuffed. deer head of all things, brushing at it’s fur with some manner of small, metal instrument.

The man was wearing a leather apron and suspenders, and had his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing lean, strong forearms. The suspenders were attached to a pair of… very well fitting grey work pants.

He bent at the waist, and Vincent suddenly had a whole new understanding of Liberace’s problems with discretion.

He must have made some sort of indelicate, involuntary sound, because the man promptly straightened back up and turned to face him, revealing a serious face with striking dark eyes, deep and soulful.

“Mr Price!” the man wiped his hands on his apron, an endearingly nervous gesture that suggested he was by no means a Los Angeles County native, “I um, didn’t expect to actually run into you… they told me I wouldn't when I asked."

Vincent was suddenly keenly aware that despite this man being a fan, he himself was the one doing the staring.

“Yes well…” he cleared his throat after those first two words came out in a far more strangled tone than was ideal, “The fact that you’re here doing...whatever it is your doing regardless speaks well to your dedication, Mr…”

“Oh, Klepner, Sebastian Klepner,” Mr Klepner held out his hand for Vincent to shake - a strong grip, fingers a little callused, the hands of a craftsman, “I was asked to supply some new taxidermy mounts for the set?”

He gestured to the deer head he had been working on when Vincent came in, a remarkably lifelike specimen that seemed as though it could at any moment turn and start nibbling on a nearby lace curtain.

“I have a pair of doves as well, your stage manager said you’d be wanting them above the door? For the special you’re filming?”

“Ah yes, of course," Vincent eyed the deer, recalling the fate that had befallen the last few taxidermy animals that had adorned the set, "We did have a bear, until Frank Sinatra decided to have a fist fight with it,” he took a drag on his cigarette, wide eyed and suppressing a shudder, “And I don’t even want to tell you what Mickey Rooney did to the alligator." 

Sebastian winced as though he'd been struck. 

"God, I remember the alligator. It was a sloppy mount to begin with, but I wondered what had happened when it disappeared from the set," he glanced back at the deer, giving its neck a consoling stroke before turning the full force of that sincere gaze back onto Vincent, "It makes sense a lot of your guests would be disrespectful to the mounts, given how they behave towards you. I don't know how you put up with it." 

"One does what one must, show business is what it is, I'm afraid…" 

Sebastian made an emphatic little hand gesture, cutting him off. 

"It still isn't right. A man who's done as much for the industry as you have shouldn't have to put up with that kind of thing…" his eyes flashed, and he had, seemingly without realising, come right into Vincent's personal space. Of course when he did realise, he stepped back a half step, looking a touch sheepish. 

It took all of Vincent's self control not to reach out and pull him back in. 

"Can I ask, who set the crow?" Sebastian gestured to the bird attached to the shoulder of Vincent's jacket - funny how one could get so used to something like that that it slipped one's mind entirely. 

"It is supposed to be a raven…" he peered sidelong into the bird's beady glass eyes, as Sebastian stepped up closer to him once more, shaking his head. 

"You wouldn't want a full sized raven on your shoulder. May I?" He reached up to adjust a few stray feathers, tucking them back into place along the line of the wing. As he did, the back of his hand brushed Vincent's cheek, the brief contact like the bright electric snap of a Tesla coil. 

"Sorry…" 

"No… No it's quite alright…" Vincent's voice quavered slightly, and his own tell-tale heart thudded in his chest as he was rewarded with a crooked, dimpled smile. 

"The uh, the legs aren't really set quite right either, if I could just…" 

Sebastian's hand came to rest on Vincent's hip, the pressure of strong, clever fingers through layers of velvet and cotton. Leaning up into Vincent's space, tantalisingly close, he adjusted the bird's stance with delicate but decisive movements, his brow furrowed in concentration 

"There…" those intense dark eyes shifted from the curve of the crow's talons, up to meet Vincent's eyes, pausing for a brief moment at his lips on the way there, "Much better…" 

"Ayy! Vinny!" 

The brash, nasal twang of the director, Charlie Gardina's, voice punctured the air like a crossbow bolt. Vincent jumped, and Sebastian's hand on his hip withdrew quickly as though on an elastic cable. 

Vincent's jaw clenched in frustration. 

" Yes... _Charles_?"

If Gardina noticed the edge in his voice, or how close he and Sebastian still were to each other, he made no sign of it. 

"Them hydraulics is shot, babe, we're callin' time on it for tonight, we'll shoot tomorrow a'ight?" 

Vincent bristled, holding his breath for a moment to avoid losing his temper, though his voice was still tight and sharp when he spoke, "Of course. These things cannot be helped. I shall see you on the morrow, Charles." 

The director gave Vincent a thumbs up, entirely ignoring Sebastian, and bluster Ed back out of the room, shoving a lamp that wobbled precariously on his way. 

"Well, that, as they say, is that," Vincent stubbed out his cigarette on an elaborate copper ashtray shaped like a peacock that rested on a nearby box. If there was a touch more violence in the gesture than was strictly necessary then that was his own business. 

"Mr Price?" 

He looked back up at Sebastian, who had a look of concern on his face that warmed Vincent's heart, and gave him the absurd desire to kiss away the furrow between his brows. 

"Please, I must insist you call me Vincent." 

"Okay, Vincent," another one of those unreasonably attractive dimpled smiles, "Maybe I'm over stepping the mark here…"

Vincent barely held back from asking him to over step any and all marks he wanted to. 

"But, would you maybe be interested in grabbing a drink? Now that you're not working the rest of the evening."

Vincent looked back at the chest containing the brandy. 

It could wait for another day. 

"As it happens, I would be very interested indeed." 

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to the PJFA server and their endless enabling. I'm sorry this wasn't smut.


End file.
